


For Sleep

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Kittie And Gem Stories [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry John, Awkward Conversations, Awkward First Times, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Frustrated Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Sex cures sleepiness, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock doesn't know how to masturbate, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4890061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want to sleep. For once, I want to sleep and I cannot do so because I…I…” Sherlock trailed off with a growl of frustration and pulled at his curls, flopping down onto  his back. “I can’t! I just…can’t.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Kittie and I normally write together to help each other get through creative blocks and to inspire one another (also for fun), and this is one of the stories we have ended up with. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. I wrote Sherlock and Kittie wrote John.

Sherlock closed John’s bedroom door behind him quietly and strode bare-footed over the carpet, dressed in his worn and tattered t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He peered into John’s sleeping face, moved around to the side of the bed with the most space available, and slipped under the covers with a low breath, curling up and pushing close into John’s scent and warmth with a few squirming movements that bounced the mattress under him pleasingly. Sherlock yawned, stretched, turned over, turned back, and pushed his entire body against John’s back with a huge great sigh that washed hot air over John’s neck and down his spine.

After only a few seconds of stillness, Sherlock huffed and sat up, looking down at John and folding his arms, “If I were a murderer, you’d probably be dead by now. Where’s that keen sense of vigilance gone?” he murmured to the sleeping form of his friend, and then glared and nudged John in the back with his knee. “John. John, wake up.”

"I'm not wearing Harry's pants!" John murmured before snorting once and turning his head to the other side of the pillow.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shifted to shake John by the shoulder, “John. John, wake up. John!” he said, raising his voice and then attacking John’s shin with his toe childishly. “John!”

"Shit," John swore, rolling off swiftly to his feet and adopting a defensive stance by the bed, his eyes bleary and his hair tousled. "Sh-Sherlock? What the hell are you doing in my bed?" He grumbled, rubbing his brow and checking around the bedroom before he sighed and climbed back into bed slowly with a half-hearted glare at Sherlock, the furrows in his brow made a lot deeper from the angle of the muted streetlight through his curtains. Sherlock braced himself for John to request he get out and go back to his own bed, but John said nothing more, just lay back and scrubbed his face with a tired sounding exhale.

“Have sex with me,” Sherlock demanded with an impassive expression when nothing more was forthcoming, his eyes watching John closely in the darkness, the angles of his own face and body highlighted against the dark room as he twisted to look down at John. 

"Is this a dream?" John laughed dryly. "Because I’m pretty sure Sherlock bleeding Holmes has just asked me to have sex with him... what's next? Hoverboards? Time travel?"

“I want to sleep. For once, I want to sleep and I cannot do so because I…I…” Sherlock trailed off with a growl of frustration and pulled at his curls, flopping down onto his back. “I can’t! I just…can’t.”

John's expression softened and he put his good arm behind his head and looked over at him resignedly, "Have you tried actually sleeping? Did you close your eyes and try? Or have a nice hot bath? That usually works. Not many people go immediately for the option of climbing into bed with their dangerous, soldier flatmate with a history of PTSD, who also happens to be straight? Or did that not factor into your deductions?"

Sherlock shot him a dark look, made darker by the shadows over his face, “Of course I tried that. I’ve tried everything,” he complained, throwing his arms up animatedly. “I just lie there. Not sleeping.”

John cleared his throat, "Have you tried...you know...?" He gave a suggestive but reluctant gesture in Sherlock's direction, obviously not in the mood to voice it, either too embarrassed or too tired to do so.

“That’s why I’m here,” Sherlock said slowly, as if John was being particularly stupid. “Well, one of the reasons. First, I thought another person’s body heat might help. Apparently it can be soothing. To know there’s someone you trust and care about lying next to you. It’s meant to make you feel safe and relaxed, and therefore help with sleep…”

John looked suddenly shamefaced and uncomfortable, blushing at the implications and compliments Sherlock had rattled off so honestly. Sherlock gave the expressions drifting over John’s face a dramatic eye roll, and noticed the moment that John tipped his chin to his chest in something akin to consent, with a smug, faint smile.

"I suppose in your own weird and completely bonkers way, you make a sort of sense," John smiled softly and nudged Sherlock in the side playfully. "Well, come here then, before I change my mind— You know, if you wanted a cuddle, you only had to ask."

“That’s not what I’m asking you. That’s not—Look, I tried to sleep, I tried to see if lying beside you would sooth me enough to slip off, but it didn’t,” Sherlock stressed, covering his face briefly and then messing with his hair in a way that he hoped showed the amount of his anxiety. “I can’t even relax with the most important person in my life beside me, what does that say?—I need something more. Something that will actually work. That’s why as a sort of last resort, as it were, I brought up the request for sex. So, have sex with me.” 

John blinked and then shook his head, "Sherlock, I'm not having sex with you. That's... not something I will do," he emphasised before sighing. "Do you want to try... you know... getting yourself off here and then you can… sleep in my bed? It won't be sex but it will be a release and that’s really what you need, yes? A release of whatever pent up…thoughts you have swimming around in that big, beautiful, frustrating brain of yours."

“No,” Sherlock said curtly and then leaned over him. “Why won’t you have sex with me?”

"I'm not having sex with you," John started with a glower, his voice loud and harsh before he took several deep breaths and continued, "because I’m straight for one; two you're my best friend, and three... well... um, I'm not in the mood for your…silly experimentations." John shrugged. "But I don't mind if you want to… get off. Happened a lot in the army so I'll just...lie here and you do what you do… over there somewhere…and you can either go back to your room or stay here, I honestly don’t care anymore. I just want to sleep."

Sherlock reached over and roughly turned the beside lamp on, scowling down at John, barely squinting his eyes against the sudden flush of light, “You won’t have sex with me, yet you are perfectly okay with me masturbating beside you? Do you hear yourself?” Sherlock scoffed, letting out a short and humourless laugh, narrowing his eyes on John who jerked a hand up to shield himself from the light with a curse, peeking through his fingers at Sherlock with a hard glare. “This isn’t the army. You were forced into those conditions. And, as you said, I’m your friend, so why would it be okay for you to listen to me pleasure myself right next to you? It’s just as intimate. You’ll feel every movement of my arm, hear my fingers on my skin, my bitten off moans and cries of release… and you’re okay with that?” Sherlock eyed him closer and then tilted his head. “Have sex with me, John.”

John maintained eye contact and set his jaw, "Are you quite finished? I've told you the reasons. I'm straight; I don't want to have sex with a man. Yes, those things are intimate but it's not the same as me sticking my cock up your arse. So no. Either you have a wank and go to sleep, or you can piss off and let me sleep. I'm too tired for this," he grumbled and closed his eyes, more out of childishness than anything.

“How can a sexually experienced man, such as yourself, be so…dim-witted and stubborn and…uneducated!” Sherlock protested, kneeling up above John on the bed, crumpling the sheets. “You do know that non-penetrative sex acts may additionally be considered sexual intercourse? I never asked for you to…penetrate me. You can have “sex” with me in other ways—Touch me.” 

"Jesus, it’s like fighting with a brick wall," John hissed aloud. "Sherlock, I have absolutely no intention what-so-ever in putting any part of my body against or around your penis. At all. No hands, lips, not even my toes. No."

“Toes?” Sherlock murmured fleetingly in interest, before he shook the thought aside and scowled, roughly moving away to sit on the edge of the bed with his back facing John and his right hand delving into his pyjama bottoms. “Fine. Be that way.”

"Just, have a wank and get into bed." John said, suddenly chuckling in disbelief and uneasy humour. "And if that isn’t the gayest thing I’ve ever said I don’t know what is… You can turn the light off if you like? More... private that way?"

“I don’t much care for privacy. Surely you, of all people, should know that,” Sherlock snapped sullenly, his shoulders slumped as he moved his arm in an agitated and brisk motion, his bicep flexing and the tendons in his arm bulging. 

Sherlock glanced back just as John shrugged and snuggled against the side of the bed he was taking up, pulling the covers up to his chin as he closed his eyes again and obviously tried to ignore the rhythmic sound of fabric against skin, "Privacy or not, no different to me…"

After a bout of silence, roughly three and a half minutes, Sherlock punched the mattress, twice, and then leaned forward on his knees with his head hanging between his shoulders and his back bowed in misery. Through his frayed thin, t-shirt, Sherlock could feel that the bumps of his spine and ribs were suddenly visible when he inhaled deeply, and as well as when he exhaled with a frustrated sound, and he rolled his shoulders, staring down at his hand and then his crotch.

"Wha's wrong?" John mumbled, having had fallen into a doze only to be awoken by Sherlock hitting the bed. "You…done?"

“No,” Sherlock said curtly.

"Performance anxiety?" John asked, "Happens to us all mate. Just pretend I’m not here. Or better yet, go back to your own room…" he mumbled and pulled the cover higher, hiding from the light of the bedside lamp.

“No, you idiot!” Sherlock barked and turned around, shuffling back under the covers, still half kneeling on the bed as he leaned over John. “I can’t do it. Not because you’re here, but because I physically can’t; nothing is happening!—John, please, I…I need to sleep. It’s almost been a week now. Granted I’ve collapsed a few times, lost minutes, sometimes hours of a day, but it has never been enough, it has never been proper sleep and consequently, I never feel refreshed. I am at my wits end, John!”

John's eyes snapped open and he stared at Sherlock with a new look of concern, "A week? Jesus Sherlock. You're going to kill yourself one of these days!" He scrabbled for Sherlock's pulse, checked his pupils and then looked down Sherlock's body, noticing that Sherlock wasn’t hard, wasn’t even semi-hard, and shook his head softly, "Why can't you do it? Is it… I mean... can you not get it up?" He asked carefully, looking slightly awkward for pushing.

“No, I can’t “get it up”,” Sherlock sneered as he shifted his weight. “This is why I came to you, John. You’re a Doctor…you know the human body. I need help. I need to sleep, and sex seems like the best option. I have already thought about resorting to taking a wad of pills, but I’d rather not take that option unless I absolutely must— Sex is a perfect solution. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that after orgasm there is a release of the neurohormones oxytocin and prolactin, as well as endorphins. This may help me to relax. So many people say that to get a good night’s sleep, or even just to get to sleep, they first must achieve orgasm.”

"Jesus. I can’t believe this. You know this is completely and utterly insane, don’t you? You know this is not the right thing for two friends to be doing, right? I…I can’t believe you even came up with this bloody “option”. Can you not go to…to someone else? Someone who isn’t me? This is mad! I mean, Christ, you…we…I…bloody hell—Alright... alright, but... just this once yeah? I'm not your... milking machine," John said before he blinked and blushed at the ridiculousness of that comment, reaching for the lubrication in the top drawer of his bedside cabinet and turning to face Sherlock. "Just... God... Take your trousers down. And…could you maybe show me what you were doing? Like... your technique? I’d like to see how you do it so I know how best to… work—I mean, so I can see where you’re going wrong. Maybe I can just…help you…get it…right…"

Sherlock nodded and lay down as he squirmed out of his pyjama bottoms, folding them and putting them aside, “Yes, fine. Just as long as you help me, John,” he said and bared himself to John’s gaze, lifting his pale flaccid penis in his right hand, unashamed and unembarrassed as he parted his legs a little and shuffled into a better position, dropping his head back on the pillow.

He massaged the skin of his penis awkwardly and softly, his hand and wrist shifting with inexperience as he stroked himself with bored and uninterested pulls. Sherlock sighed in frustration when he clumsily dropped his penis into the short, neat curls at his crotch, and picked it back up with a glower, rubbing the covered head and tugging at his foreskin ineptly, before he gave up and pulled his hand away, gesturing with it in irritation.

"Yeah, okay, I see the problem," John nodded with a short puff of breath, and sat up, folding his legs. He took Sherlock's hand and folded it into a “C” shape. "This is the way you should hold it, you’re not actually…um, holding it correctly, which is…quite surprising as it’s not entirely hard—I mean, difficult. It’s not entirely difficult. Right, okay, let’s…let’s get you…um…yeah—Do you... have a fantasy in mind?"

Sherlock shook his head and pushed up onto his elbows, “No. I don’t do that. Fantasise. I get distracted.”

"You get—What do you do then? You need to be…you know, aroused. You have to want to be aroused," John explained, slowly running his hands up the “safe” areas of Sherlock absentmindedly; his arms, shoulders, along his knees and legs, and across his slender stomach. "Can I… take your shirt off?"

“Of course,” Sherlock nodded and lifted his arms obediently, looking at John as he did so. “That’s a problem however, with what you said before. As I don’t want to be aroused. But I have to be. I’d rather not do this, but it’s this or medication, and I thought this would be the lesser of two evils.”

John sighed and rubbed his neck, "Yeah, yeah I suppose. Okay, let’s…try something, yeah? I need you to imagine how nice it would feel to be able to orgasm and sleep," John said as he pulled off Sherlock's shirt and dropped it, letting it bunch onto the floor. He ran his fingers across Sherlock's nipples after only a slight hesitation, his touch balanced somewhere between clinical and intimate in an awkward way, as he stroked down the centre of Sherlock’s chest and stomach until he circled his navel. "Imagine... erm... Imagine there’s a…girl or… or a guy, yeah, a…guy…that you like, and he's... he's naked and he wants to touch you… he…is touching you, but…not where you…want him to…touch you…"

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Sherlock huffed, watching John’s hands, vaguely fascinated when his nipples pebbled. “Minus the naked part.”

"Shh," John grumbled, "And... well... you want him to touch your… your cock but he can’t until it's… hard. You want him to make you… come but he can’t yet," he winced deeply and moved down to Sherlock's thighs and ran his hands across the goose pimpled skin, trying to distract Sherlock from his bumbling sentences. "Don't you want to get hard, Sherlock?"

“Yes—Is this normally how fantasying goes? Because it’s ridiculous,” Sherlock groused and dropped his head back with a sigh, wiggling his bare toes into the mattress. “Who is this man? Why do I like him? He’s a stranger to me. I don’t trust him.”

"Oh for…" John grumbled and laughed softly, curtly. "Bloody hell Sherlock, it's just a thought, it's not real. It could be anyone you want. It’s like…I don’t know that I’d like Angelina Jolie if I ever met her but I’m still going to have the occasional wank over her—Think of someone you like and imagine them touching your cock."

Sherlock rolled his shoulders and shifted his arms to his sides, “Why imagine that when it’s going to happen anyway?” he asked with a faint frown, regarding John’s hands again and then sniffing haughtily. “You will touch my penis, won’t you?”

"…We'll see. I'm not touching it unless you at least try to get it hard. Think of something you'd like to do. Imagine someone touching you or kissing you, sucking your… cock or fucking…fucking your… arse," John blushed, clearing his throat, and moved to pinch and stroke Sherlock's nipples again softly. "Try Sherlock, for me."

“Can’t I just kiss you?” Sherlock asked innocently before he lifted his head with a twitch, staring at his chest as his nipples puckered for further attention. “…No one’s really touched me there before. Not with that sort of intent anyway.”

"Have you ever... y'know... done stuff with someone before?" John asked, completely ignoring Sherlock’s first question, and continued stroking Sherlock's nipples. He then licked his fingers, pinching and blowing on the nubs until they were completely hard. He seemed to almost be working from muscle memory, and Sherlock watched him with intrigue, unused to seeing that side of John.

“No. Not really. I’ve never wanted to and—” Sherlock cut himself off when his penis gave a visible throb and he sat up a little in surprise to stare down at it. “Oh! Finally.”

"Mm, whatever you were thinking is working. What were you thinking of?" John asked distractedly while he teased Sherlock's nipples further before running the back of his hand up Sherlock's neck and around his ear, only to then return to his chest.

“You. Touching my nipples,” Sherlock replied with a very faint and soft gasp, his stomach muscles suddenly tensing as his hands fluttered awkwardly in the air without direction, and then landed on John’s arms with a light touch. His penis filled rapidly, flushing, and curving up with eagerness against his lower stomach, and Sherlock hissed through his teeth with a flurry of his eyelids.

"You're hard enough now to touch," John whispered, his mouth suddenly thick with saliva, which forced him to quickly clear his throat. "Use your hand like this…" he curved it into a “C” once more and wrapped his thicker hand around Sherlock's own, "…and just touch slowly, stroke, find a rhythm." John’s voice was becoming breathy and he cleared his throat again and twisted their hands around Sherlock's hardening cock. "Feel it?"

Sherlock looked down, entranced for a second, and then blinked and shifted his hips, curling his fingers around himself as he thickened hotly, “That was…quick. Possibly too quick. I feel slightly lightheaded.”

"That’s okay, I’ve got you. You're safe," John whispered before frowning at his own words. He grasped for the lubrication and pulled Sherlock's hand away for a second, pouring some of the cool gel onto his palm and then carefully replacing it over Sherlock's heated shaft. "Better? A lot of people prefer to focus on the head and pulling the foreskin back, but experiment a little, see what you prefer." John smiled and kept his wrist loose to follow Sherlock's movements, not exactly coming into contact with Sherlock’s erection in any way.

“All right,” Sherlock sighed and fluidly pushed up into a kneeling position, sitting back on his feet. He moved his hand slowly and smeared the lubrication over himself, rubbing his fingers up the underside and then squeezing the flushed glans a little, smirking briefly at the moist squashing sound it produced. Gradually, however, Sherlock’s focus shifted and his hand seemed to move as if he were bored with the proceedings, his wrist limp and facial expression shuttering after only ten seconds, eyes flitting.

"Here, shuffle up," John suggested and got up onto his own knees behind Sherlock, wrapping his arm around his waist to cover Sherlock’s hand once more. "Try like this. Hold steady with your hand and just...thrust into it."

“Hm. All right,” Sherlock said jaded, but glanced back at John with interest at the new position, his back flexing and then curving as he pushed his hips forward and back gradually. Sherlock turned to face the edge of the bed after a while of staring at John and noting the distant flicker of awkwardness in the corner of his mouth and the lines near his eyes, and exposed the nape of his neck to him as he looked down. He continued his movements at a steady and slow pace, almost stopping completely at one point before Sherlock seemed to remember himself and carried on.

A slow burn of desire coiled and tightened low in his body, and Sherlock swallowed thickly and stared down at their joined hands. The sight shot a spark of heat up his spine and a tingle through his peaked nipples, that was so strong and sharp that Sherlock’s entire body twitched in an overwhelming need for more. Sherlock watched as his penis slickly appeared and disappeared between the ring of his own fingers, John’s resting atop, guiding and following and steadying Sherlock. Sherlock’s thighs trembled and he altered his position to compensate for the sudden tensing.

John suddenly gave a throaty groan and squeezed Sherlock's hand tighter around the leaking tip of Sherlock’s erection, twisting their entwined hands and placing his other hand on Sherlock’s other hip, "J-Just keep doing that and I’m su-sure you'll come…"

“And if I don’t? Ejaculate that is…” Sherlock asked lightly as he snapped his hips faster and rougher at the added friction. He froze, looking over his shoulder again with a forced unreadable look, when the bulge of John’s erection nudged hard into the bare cleft of his arse. He gazed at John, followed the blotchy way his blush blossomed down his face and neck, and then began grinding back against him with every thrust, his buttocks tensing as he picked up the pace a little and exhaled deeply, dropping his head forwards at the onslaught of pleasure.

"T-then we'll work some-Christ- something else out," John groaned, letting his head fall between Sherlock's shoulders. "I could... t-talk or... finger you just a bit...always helps m-me if I’m unable to come." He choked on another groan and pressed his hips against Sherlock's arse, digging his erection into Sherlock roughly with a sigh.

“Yes,” Sherlock answered in a breathy sort of moan, and pushed back at him eagerly, grinding and rubbing along John in an extremely unrestrained and suggestive motion that became unexpectedly, uncontrollable. “Anything.”

"Fingering can be in-intense the first time," John warned. "You'd have to trust me…"

Sherlock stopped with one abandoned flex of his hips and shot John a look over his shoulder, “I do trust you. Immensely. You know I do,” he said with a husky tone, barely registering his own blush as it rushed colour down his throat and chest.

"Pass me the lube," John whispered throatily and pulled back from Sherlock, taking his hand away with a soft look. "Just keep stroking, I won't be a minute."

Slicking up his skin, he lowered his dominant hand to Sherlock's buttocks and spread them carefully, running his thumb along Sherlock's perineum and behind his balls very lightly, before he increased the pressure, "…You sure this is ok?"

Sherlock shot up from his relaxed position with a very unmanly squeak, blinking rapidly as he stared back at John, “I…sorry. You…I didn’t know you were going to do that… nobody has touched me there before either. Apologises. Proceed,” he told John with a quivering voice, clearing his throat and settling back again. “And yes, of course I’m okay. I was the one to proposition you, remember?”

"I know," John sighed, pressing a soft kiss against the naked skin of Sherlock's spine without obvious thought, carrying on in a soothing voice "…but I don’t want you to rush into anything." He gave Sherlock's perineum another tender sweep. "You can tell me to stop or wait at any time." 

John moved his thumb down, stilling over Sherlock's tightened skin. He took a deep breath to centre himself and slowly circled the slicked pad of his thumb against Sherlock, loosening the tensed muscles before slipping the tip of his thumb inside, "God…"

Sherlock gasped wetly with a deep frown and fell forward a little, bracing himself on the bed with both hands, “Oh. That…that feels…strange,” he murmured gruffly, shaking in a sudden rippling tremor and then swallowing too loud. “I… did defecate before I had a bath about an hour or so ago, so I should be…f-fine.”

"That's fine. What’s a bit of mess between friends who store body parts in their fridge and chemicals in the bath?" John said, the grin evident even in his raspy tone, as he pushed his thumb in further. "Feel ok? I know it's weird but… it’s not painful?"

Sherlock could feel John’s heated gaze on him and trembled with a grinding of his teeth, curling his fingers firmly. He vaguely wondered about what he looked like on all fours, his head hanging low and his back flushed and sweaty.

“It…stings. It’s mildly uncomfortable. Not tremendously so. I can’t explain it. I’m not in any huge amount of pain though—If I were, I’d probably elbow you in the face,” Sherlock said breathlessly until his hips shook and his backside tensed. He pushed back into John’s touch with a stretching of his back muscles, his hands twisting into the sheets under him, and swallowed several times involuntarily. “Just …make me ejaculate…and touch…and…and grip me until I—” Sherlock noticed he was beginning to ramble and shut his mouth with a click.

"You can talk," John said slightly excitedly. "I need to make sure I’m not hurting you…" 

He increased the movement and pressure of his thumb inside Sherlock, stretching him marginally through the two sphincters muscles and then stilling to crick the digit until it softly brushed Sherlock's prostate. Keeping it gentle and tender, John gave a few tentative strokes before rubbing his hand across Sherlock's hip, "How’s that?"

Sherlock had stilled with only one hard twitch at the first touch of his prostate, his body almost vibrating in John’s hands. He gave a ragged groan and a jerk of his hips, and scrambled forward, throwing a look over his shoulder, “What…wh-what did you just do?” he panted, face hot and eyes wide and unfocused.

John blinked at him and then chuckled, urging him back and stroking Sherlock's hip again, "Prostate. Produces the seminal fluid and pre-ejaculate but can also be incredibly pleasurable to touch. Some men can come without penile stimulation and use prostate alone," he explained before giving another sweep over the gland. "Do you want another finger?"

Sherlock’s lips parted loosely on another uncontainable groan and he shuddered, bucking his hips with a trembling of his thighs, and nodded quickly, “Y-yes…yes…anything.” 

"Ok…" John soothed. "I need to take this one out, relax for me…" 

Pulling his thumb from Sherlock’s' body carefully he grasped the lubrication with a minutely shaking hand, which he seemed to ignore, and coated his hand again, placing two of his thick fingers at Sherlock's moist and open skin, "Deep breath in…"

Sherlock adjusted his knee position, shuffled back a little, knocking into John’s fingers softly, and dropped his head and shoulders to the bed, inhaling slowly but deeply as instructed. His hands were quaking and flexing near him, and he glowered at them and gathered up huge handfuls of the bedding to grip onto, swallowing unsteadily, as he then brought some of it against his face. The material smelt like their fabric softener and John, and both scents relaxed him as John massaged the lubrication in teasing, eager circles against the fluttering muscles of his anus.

Unhurriedly, John pressed his fingers inside Sherlock at a gradual pace, stretching him open further, and stimulating pleasurable jolts of excitement and want with each push and drag. John suppressed a shiver of arousal and twisted his fingers slightly, scissoring them and then curling them to get to Sherlock's prostate, giving it a few subtle strokes as he pulled Sherlock further back until he was almost sitting on John’s knee. Sherlock bit back on a very lurid moan and clenched his eyes shut, turning his head aside to push his cheek and parting mouth to more of the bed sheets. 

John moved the hand on his hip and suddenly reached around for Sherlock's cock, apparently no longer caring that he wasn’t holding Sherlock's hand as a barrier. At the touch, Sherlock choked on a loud inhalation and felt John’s fingers smooth through the wetness of pre-ejaculate that seemed to be leaking, and positively flowing from him. Sherlock blinked his eyes open sluggishly and took a quick glance under his shoulder, and down the length of his body; a thick trembling line of pre-ejaculate was connecting him to the bed, a damp puddle already growing under the wet head of his penis.

As he watched, John broke the line with a flick of his wrist, and slicked it around Sherlock's slit as he stretched his body over Sherlock’s back to stroke and nuzzle into his neck, "That’s it, how does it feel?"

Whimpering and twitching, Sherlock grasped tighter handfuls of the bed sheets, pressed his shoulders back into the bed, and then moaned lowly, “S’good,” he replied in a hoarse voice and a hitching breath, that he tried desperately to muffle into the bed, writhing and rutting a little when his penis violently twitched with a well placed twist of John’s fingers. “John…s’good…touch me more…”

John grunted and pulled his fingers out only to cautiously press in three, careful not to overwhelm Sherlock further, but recognisably desperate to feel Sherlock twitch and spasm around his fingers once he climaxed. Steadily, John pumped Sherlock's cock and worked Sherlock through the strangely pleasing burn of stretching around three large digits. 

"Fuck, Sherlock," John groaned, kissing Sherlock's neck idly. "This... this is mad…"

Beginning to pant with strained, hard, breaths, Sherlock rocked eagerly, pressing back onto John’s fingers and then pushing forward into John’s hand, becoming marginally frantic and feverish with wanton lust, that gripped at him tighter and tighter. Sherlock growled quietly and whined, parting his legs shamelessly and arching his back. When John trailed all three fingers over his prostate, one by one, Sherlock pushed his face into the mattress hard, trying in vain to muffle himself as he murmured and babbled incoherently with raising volume. 

"That's it, so close," John was chanting behind Sherlock, gripping his throbbing penis tight, stroking again at his prostate, then again, spacing each touch every few seconds. "You can do it, you can come, Sherlock…"

“Yes…I…John…” Sherlock moaned loudly, when he lifted himself up on his arms with a jerky impulsive motion to thrust erratically between both of John’s hands, his head lolling and then arching back as he gripped his own knees, then his thighs. John’s skilful fingers continued their movements, stretching him open a little more, pushing in and out of him, whilst John’s other hand rubbed and gripped and stroked along his length with increasing speed. 

Sherlock bucked unsteadily, his mouth open and his eyes screwed shut, and straightened up on his knees with a broken whine when the pleasure sharply heightened and his stomach muscles quivered. He rolled his body, trapped between John’s working hands, and shook and rutted inconsistently for another minute, before he snapped his pelvis forward twice and went taut and trembling in orgasm, his hips and buttocks and thighs convulsing. Sherlock inhaled nosily and looked down as he spilled hot and thick over John’s fingers, spraying the bed and catching the underside of his own chin.

"Fuck... fuck," John groaned, his head resting on the slick skin between Sherlock's shoulders. "Sherlock, I really want…I… can I... can I put my cock in you? Just a little? Just... my God I need it." John whined, his hips thrusting minutely with every shudder of Sherlock's blissed out body.

Sherlock juddered, made a low, vibrating and wild noise in the back of his throat, and nodded after a moment, “Yes…yes…” he gasped, and rotated and squirmed his hips in satisfaction, still riding out his climax. A few more thick pulses of ejaculate hit the bed heavily and Sherlock closed his eyes with a shaky exhale.

John carefully but quickly removed his fingers from Sherlock's backside, and his hand from Sherlock’s still weakly twitching penis, pulled down his boxers, took himself in hand and then paused with a sigh, "Sherlock... I…I'm clean but... I can get condoms, they’re in the bathroom," he muttered, and Sherlock could hear as he stroked himself with one still slick and warm hand.

“Trust you…” Sherlock whispered, still shaking and moaning under his breath. “I’m…clean too…can…can check…if you want—No. No, you…you know…you’re my doctor…you’ve seen my…you know that I…”

John added more lubrication raucously to his erection and rearranged his position until, Sherlock surmised, he was sitting with his back against the headboard. He pulled Sherlock back across the mattress until he was over John’s cock and held him tightly, "I... You should be open enough but, fuck, go slow." He groaned. 

Sherlock shuffled languidly and began to lower himself, allowing John to guide him down until the blunt, wet head of John’s cock nudged against and then into him with a lewd and slick sound. John bit back a wail as he was slowly sheathed inside of Sherlock, whose body seemed to suck him in with strong flutters. Sherlock gripped at his own knees and winced with a hitched grunt as the head of John’s penis finally popped through the loosened bands of muscles. Trying his best to concentrate, Sherlock breathed deeply for a moment and then clenched down around the intrusion with a shiver, enjoying the sensation as well as the deep growl John emitted as he threw his head back, one of his hands moving to hold the base of his erection. 

Sherlock flexed his back and stretched in front of John, straightening his shoulders a little and bending his head, clutching harder onto his knees as he angled his pelvis with a low hiss and pressed further down onto John inch by inch, tensing at random intervals and biting back a low whimper. John was hot and faintly throbbing inside him and Sherlock shuddered with a flush up his face that had him reaching back with a shaky hand to touch John’s hip. After a stabilising second, Sherlock shuffled further against him, rolling his hips downwards.

"Here," John whispered, entwining their fingers on Sherlock’s other hand and bringing it to rest on Sherlock's chest. "I've got you" 

John thrust slightly, barely noticeable, as he tried to push more of himself into Sherlock's willing and eager body. Sherlock could tell, even though his dazed state, that John wanted nothing more than to rut against him, to push him down and fuck him hard and fast against the bed, but he refused to do so and restrained himself by clinging to Sherlock’s hand and waist. Burying his toes into the mattress, John then rocked his hips, circling them in an attempt to find Sherlock's prostate.

With a startled gasp once he succeeded, Sherlock bucked hard, overwhelmed with sensation, “John,” he groaned and pressed their joined hands against his thundering heart, leaning his head back to drop onto John’s shoulder. His hair was sweat-soaked; ringlets plastered to his temples, behind his ears and at the nape of his neck, and Sherlock breathed heavily and arched his back, giving a small undulation of his hips to have the head of John’s penis brush along his prostate again. Sherlock groaned with a grimace, caught on the fine line between pleasure and discomfort, and pressed his knees together a little, increasing the pressure and tightness around John’s cock.

"Do-Do you think you can come again? I want you to come again Sherlock," John whispered once he was finally fully seated within Sherlock, kissing and nibbling on the bottom of Sherlock's earlobe deliriously. "I want to feel you come…" 

John growled loudly when Sherlock twisted his body and snapped his hips up, suddenly overcome, and pounded Sherlock's prostate with every thrust. Sherlock could tell distantly that John was close to the edge, his cock leaking and twitching inside Sherlock, as sweat drenched both of them and dripped across overly sensitive skin, small droplets trailing down Sherlock’s face, neck, and trembling from the ends of his puckered nipples.

Sherlock cried out and slumped forward slightly, only to push back into John’s body, “I…I don’t…I—yes…yes, yes, yes,” he slurred in overwrought breaths and groans, his body bowing and wriggling and contracting. Sherlock angled his hips a little more, enough to display his flushed and weeping penis to John, the foreskin fully retracted and the glans rosy and slick and swollen. It was hypersensitive and sore and red, and Sherlock wondered vaguely when he had started to get hard again. With a moan, Sherlock gazed at John sideways through his lashes, and bit down on his bottom lip before flashing John a small and panting smile.

John moved his hand from around Sherlock's waist and grabbed his seeping cock, stroking it rapidly and sloppily as he bucked his hips and snarled in pleasure. Sherlock flailed on and against him at the touch to the sensitive skin, and fitfully rutted with John’s movements, feeling the all-consuming urge to take, grow in John’s actions as he bit and licked at the back of Sherlock's neck, his hand moving at a frantic pace along the wet and aching skin of Sherlock’s penis. Barely holding onto his obvious oncoming orgasm, John groaned and whined, bouncing his arse on the mattress and pressing his forehead into Sherlock's ear, when his head lolled back and forth.

Sherlock gripped John’s hand at his chest and wailed highly with an overpowering and vigorous shaking, “Ah! Oh…John…John I’m—S’good…yes…touch…touch me…take me…” he growled, thrusting wildly, trying to match John’s rhythm but ultimately stuttering with uneven and wild movements as he howled in abrupt orgasm, his neck strained as he grit his teeth and then inhaled sharply through his nose. Sherlock twitched as he spurted over John’s fingers again, not as much as the first time, but just as strong and sharp, the thin strands of ejaculate arcing over the mattress when Sherlock peered through his trembling lashes.

The convulsing and contracting of Sherlock's muscles clutched at John's erection firmly, forced John to drop Sherlock's still dripping penis and place his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder to push him down harder and harder as John thrust up once, twice, and then he was climaxing with a snarl. Sherlock gasp hitched in his throat as John arched up, pushing them both from the mattress strongly as what felt like rivers of ejaculate exploded within him, filling Sherlock hotly and dribbling out with every shudder and throb of John's body and cock. John panted hard through his mouth and sat back with Sherlock heavily once his body quivered with a threatening spasm, lying his head on Sherlock's back and breathing against him as the final spurt of ejaculate emptied into Sherlock. 

John squeezed Sherlock's entwined hand and kissed his shoulder blade tenderly, "Are you… ok? Did…did I hurt you?"

Sherlock didn’t answer straight away and continued to try and control and regulate his breathing, his heart hammering hard and fast against their hands, “…M’fine,” he murmured after a moment, exhausted and sedated, his voice slurring. He shivered and relaxed slowly against John, gasping silently with each and every continued twitch of his hips and thighs in aftershock. 

Sherlock’s skin was radiating heat and slicked in sweat, the spicy and musky scent of him filling the air around them and mixing with John’s own in a way that made Sherlock inhale slowly through his nose and shudder, licking his lips. He liked the clogging smell more than he wanted to admit, and turned his head away, allowing his body to slump languorously into John’s embrace.

"Let's get you into bed before you fall asleep on me," John whispered and very slowly urged Sherlock off his still distantly throbbing cock with a bodily wince, lying Sherlock down beside him. Sherlock had refused to drop John's hand during the process and John sighed, clumsily shuffling around and tapping Sherlock's shoulder softly, "Let go for a minute, I need to clean you up…"

“Don’t want to…” Sherlock heard himself whinge, his fingers tightening and then loosening when his eyelids fluttered closed sleepily. “Thank you…for…helping John…I’m…so tired now…”

"You sleep," John breathed as he climbed from the bed and wandered confidently into the bathroom. 

As soon as the door closed Sherlock knew that John would immediately began to panic and sighed to himself, rolling his eyes under his lids. Forcing himself to drift between consciousness and unconsciousness, Sherlock heard the faint thud of John’s head against the other side of the door, deduced how hard John was attempting to calm his breathing, and curled his fingers into John’s pillow. Although everything that had happened had obviously been consensual, John seemed to continue to panic about their friendship on the other side of the door, out of sight, for over a minute. 

Sherlock held on to awareness and listened to John’s footsteps as he walked to the sink and grabbed a flannel, soaking it in warm water and wringing it, before returning. John opened the door quietly and strolled back to Sherlock, carefully and tenderly and silently cleaning up Sherlock's pale abdomen, flexing fingers, and sore genitals.

Sherlock cringed automatically and snorted, opening his eyes with an unfocused gaze, but then slumped weakly with a sigh, his eyes rolling up. He struggled to fight off sleep, annoyed that after chasing it for so long, after wanting it, he needed to keep it at bay. His breathing deepened instinctively, readying for slumber, and Sherlock twitched as he held it back. His face felt slack and relaxed, lips parted and wet, and he pondered what he looked like, naked and stretched out languidly across John’s bed. Possibly jarring and abnormal to say the least.

John cleared his throat and grumbled at the state of his sheets before he gave himself a quick clean with the flannel and left it by the bed as he climbed in beside Sherlock, rearranging the pillows and bedding to deliberately slow and gentle movements. He then moved onto his side and Sherlock could feel John’s eyes roaming over him before John’s hand stroked unexpectedly through Sherlock's curls. Sherlock shivered and sighed at the caress and forced his eyes open once again to watch John leaning over and turning off the bedside lamp. John then dropped his hand to rest on the curve of Sherlock's naked hip, feeling his skin flex and rise with every breath.

Sherlock tried to stare at John through the darkness for as long as he could, but the pull and crawling of sleep was too much to continually fight and he sank down further in the mattress, allowing his eyes to droop closed as everything dulled but for the points of contact between their bodies. Sherlock moaned softly and lost himself in the black curtains of oblivion just as John gathered him up in his arms and breathed against his forehead warmly.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels us!


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